


Iraq

by BloodMooninSpace



Series: Berserker'verse [2]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Berserker'verse, Implied off-screen Rape, Sentinel in a Zone-Out, Torture of a Sentinel, Unreliable Narriator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 13:04:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5249243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodMooninSpace/pseuds/BloodMooninSpace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One Missing in Action, Presumed Dead.</p><p>Jack O'Neill is not as dead as he has been presumed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Iraq

**Author's Note:**

> CONTENT WARNING FOR:
> 
> Kidnapping, torture, unlawful imprisonment, torture of a Sentinel, nonconsensual Daemon touching, nonconsensual Daemon separation, Implied Rape/NonCon, UNRELIABLE NARRATOR.

Jack and Aalie, Daemon, Female Bald Eagle

 

 

_Excerpted from the after action report date: XX REDACTED XX_

_To: XX REDACTED XX_

_From: XX REDACTED XX_

 

_Mission success, target eliminated._

 

_Three friendlies confirmed lost, one missing in action, presumed dead._

 

*** ** *** ** ***** ** *** ** ***** ** *** ** ***** ** *** ** ***** ** *** ** ***** ** *** ** ***** ** ***

 

His arms are tied behind his back, and there is hood over his head, and it’s just thin enough that he can see shadows, see moving shapes, without detail. He can feel Aalie’s talons digging into his right shoulder as they drag him. The man on his right isn’t being careful, keeps brushing up against her, and every time he does, Jack can feel the mans hatred and anger; toxic and sour.

Theres a reason it's considered impolite the world over to touch a Daemon. The Daemon is the physical manifestation of the soul, and physical contact with someone's daemon bleeds emotion, you can’t lie to someone who’s touching your Daemon, at least, not successfully. You can’t hide, soul laid bare.

 

And this bastard is touching Aalie casually, with every jostling bump. It feels fundamentally wrong, but Jack’s fighting to keep his feet under him, he’s unable to shove the man off.

 

He’s pulled to a halt, the man on his left kicking in the back of his knee, and Jack goes down hard. A clay mix dirt under his knees would be his best guess, based on impact and give --

 

 _*JACK!*_ The piercing scream is layered with the screech of a eagle as Jack doubles over in pain. A strange pair of hands wrap around Aalie, pinning her wings to her body and physically tearing her from his shoulder. The glee-tinged hatred bleeding though his bond with Aalie is enough to make Jack heave, and his stomach has been empty two of the last three days on their trip to this, wherever this was, or Jack would be dealing with matter inside his hood.

 

 _*JACK! JACK! JAAAAAAACK!*_ She’s still screaming as their assailant keeps walking away, and Jack can feel it, the unpleasant ripping sensation in his chest as they take his Daemon too far away for comfort. The feedback stops as she stops screaming, and Jack’s head is echoing with the silence of it all.

 

He can’t breathe, there's a hollow in his chest that's overwhelming, and the room reeks.

 

Urine, blood, clay, gunpowder. The dry acrid scent of sunbaked blood mixed in dust, the wet stench of the latrine --

 

The bite of the cords wrapped around his wrists, the chafing of his dirt encrusted clothes, too tight, too stiff --  EMPTY HOLLOW ALONE --

 

Theres one hell of a storm outside, the driving wind sending stones and sand whipping into the walls of the hut that sounds like too little protection in this kind of weather. Not an electrical storm, no thunder or lightening, but the WIND.

 

He can see them moving, shadowy wraiths beyond the hood. One of them stops in front of him, and Jack’s eyes water at the overwhelming stench of urine.

 

They must be dosing him with something that messes with his sense of time, his perceptions.

 

They barely feed him, must be in the water.

 

How did they make Aalie go quiet? The screeching of the birds of prey, so near, so loud, none of them words, none of them Aalie’s voice carried on the beating wind.

 

The cold edge of a knife, his shirt falling away. Somethings shifting over his shoulder,

 

It bites, it burns; Where would they get fire ants in Afghanistan? His back burns, a thousand bites, nips, pinches along his back, his shoulders, they’re sliding down his pants --

 

The new hood is just as bad as they old one, not dark enough to actually hide them, he can see their shaped, looming around him. Third meal in a row they’ve served him moldy food, and he couldn’t stomach it this time.

 

When they feed him, it isn’t enough food, or often enough, and he’s so dizzy when he’s coherent enough to notice.

 

Theres a hand on the back of his neck, and all he can smell is bile and mold, the knife ghosting over his hips providing short relief from the stinging of the ants that bite again every time someone disturbs them, or he so much as moves --

 

His world is fire, and it smells of spent charges.

 

***

 

 _*Jack! Jack!*_ Warmth bloomed in his chest as he heard Aalie’s voice for the first time in weeks, excitement in her words as they echoed across his mind, without any caw or squawk to betray the fact that she was close enough to contact him. Good Girl. 

 

He was covered in sand, grit, filth, and he didn't even want to know what.

 

But there was something it the air --

 

There were several low retorts, silenced weapons fire cutting through the still desert night.

 

Half a dozen sets of quiet bootfalls, and there was a hand on his chin, tipping up his face

 

"Jack O'Neill, my name is Jack O'Neill" He tried to say it, but it came out a cracked rasp, his throat burning, lips chapped.

 

"We've got one package alive and kicking."

 

The radio crackled and Jack could hear someone swear.

 

"Clear."

 

"Clear."

 

"Pack it up and let's clear out."

 

Jack tried to get to his feet, but his legs were numb, pins and needles and too weak, even as the world swam.

 

***

 

“Good Morning Virginia!" The voice crackling over the radio is light and perky, too saccharine for comfort after weeks without hearing english.

 

Jack looked around the room, and it was standard fare for a military hospital. Drab tan walls, exacting white trim, charcoal gray blankets, an empty second bed with perfect military corners.

 

He’s got an IV in his arm, and more leads to more monitors than he’s had to endure in a while. Aalie was perched at the foot of the bed, her eyes bright and intense.

 

_*We made it home Jack, go back to sleep. We know the drill, the doctors will want you to rest.*_

 

 

 

Jack stared at her, perched tall, a vibrant brown against the drab industrial walls. She would still be there when he woke up. Home safe. Safe enough to sleep. She'll still be here when he wakes --

 

*** ** *** ** ***** ** *** ** ***** ** *** ** ***** ** *** ** ***** ** *** ** ***** ** *** ** ***** ** ***

_Summation of Psychiatric Evaluation, J O'Neill serial: XXXXXXXXX_

 

_O'Neill is still incoherent on many of the details of his captivity. A consult with his attending physician attributes this to his severe dehydration and malnutrition. The reports from the rescue units confirm his memories of being kept in squalid conditions, and despite his toxicology reports showing no signs of psychotropics, there is strong indications that he was under the influence of some sort of mitigating influences. As he reports that his Daemon was kept confined in another room, he is additionally likely to be suffering from symptoms of acute Daemon separation._

 

_He was most likely dosed with a series of doses of a sensory stimulant that cleared out of his bloodstream quickly, as he reports physical conditions that have either sense healed, or were perceived as far worse than the physical damage incurred._

 

_I concur with his attending physician that given time, he ought to make a full recovery._

 

_Dr. Martin Patricks, Arlington Memorial Hospital_

**Author's Note:**

> This is very loosely an episode tag to "A Matter of Time" Sg-1, season 2, episode 15. Jack gets into it over being "left behind" and the other officer responds with "We thought you were dead"


End file.
